


i hate to see you leaving (a fate worse than dying)

by c0rpz3huzb4nd



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, GD i hate using rpf tags on here, Healthy Relationships, Kinda, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not RPF, Sparring, ao3 PLEASE give us seperate tags. its like hlvrai all over again, ik the title may seem like it but this isnt angsty i prommy, making that very clear. quackischlatt are MARRIED and they LOVE EACH OTHER, no beta we die like ghostbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28878849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0rpz3huzb4nd/pseuds/c0rpz3huzb4nd
Summary: Even across the clearing, he can hear Quackity’s breath get punched out of him as his wings flare, flapping hard in an attempt to keep himself upright. His attacker brandishes something that Schlatt realizes too late is a sword, and his cry dies on his lips as they bring it down on his husband’s spread wings, the sound coming out as more of a weak croak.His stomach wrenches as he braces himself for the sound of flesh tearing, of Quackity’s cry as his wing is severed, but instead there’s just… a dull thunk, and Quackity’s familiar laugh ringing out through the trees.Wait, what the fuck?
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF) & Alexis | Quackity
Comments: 2
Kudos: 202





	i hate to see you leaving (a fate worse than dying)

**Author's Note:**

> *peacefully ignores quackity and schlatts canon relationship and pretends that they were a nice married couple instead* this is what i call a pro gamer move

Quackity’s been sneaking out. On its own, that doesn’t worry Schlatt all that much. His husband is his own person, he can do whatever the hell he wants with his free time, you know? It’s the way he’s been coming _back_ that worries him. Lately, insomnia’s been keeping him up into the early hours of the morning, which means he can catch the other hybrid’s late-night comings and goings much easier.

For the past several weeks, Quackity’s been slipping out the door at around 10 pm, when he thinks Schlatt is already asleep, and not returning till just before sunrise. He always comes back into the room with his wings dragging behind him, decorated with a new assortment of scrapes and bruises. He’ll limp into bed, curling into Schlatt’s side before passing out for another couple of hours before the two of them have to get up for the morning.

Lately, the hybrid’s been doing his best to sneak out of bed without waking his husband up, just to afford him an extra bit of sleep, in an attempt to ease the dark bags standing out under the winged man’s eyes. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but his desire to let Quackity keep his privacy has been drowned out by his concern. He can’t handle seeing his husband limp back into the room, wincing as he moves. It worries him far too much. _What if he's hurt? What if_ _Dream is doing something to him?_

Which is the long way of saying he’s currently sneaking through the woods at ten thirty at night in the rain, following Quackity as he weaves along an invisible path between the trees, actively regretting not exercising as much as he used to. He watches curiously as his husband unfolds one his wings, holding one of them over his own head like an umbrella, shucking off his jacket as he does so. He pauses to crouch down, tucking it into a tree stump and retrieving something that Schlatt can’t quite see, before continuing on his way.

By the time he slows, Schlatt’s sure they’re _far_ out of the boundaries of Manburg, and even the boundaries of Pogtopia, honestly. Schlatt pulls back a bit now that the other man’s less focused on where he’s going, not eager to get spotted before he even figures out what Quackity’s up to. His husband strides confidently out into a clearing, spreading his wings wide, rain sliding smoothly off of the canary yellow feathers, dripping to the ground.

Schlatt barely has time to question what he’s doing when a second figure darts out of the sky from where they’d been crouched on a nearby tree branch, previously unnoticed by the ram-hybrid, tackling Quackity to the dirt. He tightens his grip on the soft earth he’s crouched on, baring his teeth in a silent, protective snarl.

Even across the clearing, he can hear Quackity’s breath get punched out of him as his wings flare, flapping hard in an attempt to keep himself upright. His attacker brandishes something that Schlatt realizes too late is a sword, and his cry dies on his lips as they bring it down on his husband’s spread wings, the sound coming out as more of a weak croak.

His stomach wrenches as he braces himself for the sound of flesh tearing, of Quackity’s cry as his wing is severed, but instead there’s just… a dull thunk, and Quackity’s familiar laugh ringing out through the trees. _Wait, what the fuck_? His attacker steps back, and Schlatt huffs out a sharp breath as a familiar pair of black wings come into view in the pale light filtering through the clouds.

Philza Minecraft, _the Angel of Death, Dragon Slayer,_ holds out a hand, helping Quackity steady himself with a smile. Schlatt slumps down so far, he basically collapses to the forest floor, ears flattened against his head in shock, though they quickly perk back up to catch the conversation between the two.

“You’re getting better at defending! You can almost hold your own, I’m impressed.” Quackity puffs out his feathers slightly, extending one wing to knock against the elder, who doesn’t falter. It’s a surprising feat, since Schlatt knows how easy it is to be knocked over by the large wings, even if you’re prepared for it.

“Yeah, it’s because I’m used to you jumping my ass as soon as I get out here, Phil! Like, give a man a second to breathe, for Herobrine’s sake!” Quackity laughs as Philza nudges him back, brandishing the object he’d grabbed earlier, which Schlatt now realizes is a wooden sword, the handle worn and smooth from years of use, the fake blade chipped and scratched. It’s made of acacia, from the looks of it, smoothly contrasting the light birch color of the sword in Philza’s grip.

Several things click into place all at once, and Schlatt snorts to himself, leaning back on his haunches as he watches the two. Of course. Of course! Quackity’s been fucking _sparring_. Schlatt’s half tempted to head back now, but he’d be lying if he said he remembered the way back to L’manburg. Instead, he carefully creeps along the tree line, being extra cautious to avoid stepping on ay twigs that’d give away his presence.

“I gotta keep you on your toes!” Phil responds, swinging lazily at him with the sword, and Quackity parries easily. “War isn’t easy, mate. People are gonna be coming at you from all sides, and they aren’t gonna waste a second to let you prepare yourself.” He swings again, at the same time that he reaches out with a foot, trying to knock Quackity’s legs out from underneath him, but the other man dodges, spreading one wing to balance himself again.

“Think you can fly yet, or do you wanna warm up a bit first?” Philza asks, and Schlatt watches as his husband seems to weigh his options for a long moment, before shrugging. Instead of verbally responding, he just snaps his wings open, flapping them hard to propel himself off the ground. Philza laughs before following suit, his coat flapping in the draft created by the movement. Schlatt creeps closer to the edge of the trees, trying to keep an eye on the two as Philza continues advancing on Quackity, adjusting his own tactics to match the other man.

Absently, Schlatt’s reminded of the times he’s seen birds fighting in the wild, wings clashing together as they meet in the middle, all flashing beaks and quick, sharp movements. This is like that, but on a much larger scale. His lips quirk up into a smile as Quackity kicks out, pushing Philza backwards, causing the angel to falter in the air for a moment, dropping a few feet before he recovers, coming back full force.

Schlatt’s… _really_ impressed, honestly. Quackity’s a better fighter than he thought, and his husband has more control of his wings than Schlatt ever realized, taking advantages of the winds and updrafts, putting up a good fight, even with a chipped wooden sword, and muscles that Schlatt knows ache and twinge with every movement, every sharp midair twist. On top of that, Philza has almost a foot on him, but he still puts up a good fight.

Still, it only lasts a few minutes before Philza seems to spot an opening that Schlatt can’t even see, and he flaps his wings _hard_. The resulting gust of wind sends Quackity off balance, and he wavers in the air before apparently being forced to drop to the ground, kneeling and raising his hands in defeat as Philza triumphantly points the sword at him.

The scene tugs at a memory in the back of his brain, drawings and tales of a piglin hybrid doing the same thing, _blood for the Blood God_ and all that. Then again, if those same tales were telling the truth, Philza was his father, so he supposes it’s not that surprising.

“You’re being overly dramatic,” Quackity comments, gripping the edge of the sword to pull himself up into a standing position again. “You feeling fancy tonight, old man?” Philza just chuckles, and Schlatt freezes as the other man turns towards where he’s still hiding in the shadows, making direct eye contact.

“I just wanted to put on a show for our guest! C’mon out mate, you’re not that sly.” Aw, fuck.

Schlatt reluctantly slinks out into the clearing, intently avoiding meeting Quackity’s gaze, even as his husband lets out a few sputtered noises of surprise. Philza strides over, clapping him on the shoulder, and Schlatt suppresses a wince, because Herobrine save him, this fucker is _intimidating_.

“I- wait, what the fuck!? Schlatt, what the hell are you doing out here?” Quackity sounds incredulous, but not angry, which is a relief. Schlatt shrugs, gesturing vaguely.

“I was worried, I suppose. You kept sneaking out, and coming back all bruised up and tired, I wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Quackity makes a cooing sound in the back of his throat, reaching over to quickly ruffle Schlatt’s hair. The hybrid pointedly ignores Philza’s quiet snicker when he leans into the touch automatically, stepping away from the angel.

“In my defense, I did tell him that he should let you know what he was doing out here, but he insisted you didn’t even know. I’m not- I’m not at fault here.” Schlatt nods at him before turning back to Quackity, faltering, and turning to face Philza again.

“That’s- I’ll wait to question him until you two are done but- can I still watch?” He pauses, then adds under his breath; “You’re both really good.” That earns him another laugh from Philza.

“It’s up to Quackity, mate. You wanna show off for your husband?” Quackity leans over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before pushing Schlatt lightly towards the edge of the clearing.

“Feel free, love. It’ll be extra motivation!” Schlatt gives him a sharp grin walking over to sit on a tree stump, legs folded underneath him. Quackity shoots him an enthusiastic thumbs up, before Philza tackles him into the air again, then all his focus is on the fight.

Schlatt starts adjusting his own schedule after that, pulling his husband into bed for a nap in the afternoon so he gets enough sleep, and walking out with him to watch him and Philza spar for a few hours, enjoying the night air. It’s a nice change of pace, honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> i watched quackity’s pizza vod yesterday and i have so many questions. why is he such a fucking himbo?? why did he genuinely think a cup was a tablespoon??? why did he keep putting flour handprints on his g-d damn tits???? like i love a man w tits as much as the next mlm but seriously my dude what the hell??? i'm incredibly distressed.


End file.
